No Choice
by The Great El Dober
Summary: “What if you knew what your daughter was thinking? What if you knew exactly what she would do to herself if she couldn’t have happiness? And what if you just found out that she couldn’t.”
1. Poor Sole

I don't own Tenchi Muyo.

No Choice

By The Great El Dober

Chapter One - Poor sole

'I always said that people should have the freedom to choose and live freely no matter what others do, my past has made me believe that very strongly. So I always believed that everyone has the right to be with who ever they want and normally I would never dream of interfering. 

Normally. 

But what if you knew what your daughter was thinking? What if you knew exactly what she would do to herself if she couldn't have happiness? 

And what if you just found out that she couldn't. 

Most mothers would sacrifice anything to save their children but how many would sacrifice their principles, how many would become what they hated just to rescue their child? 

And how many would go even further than that?

Would I? 

I'm sorry Tenchi but I have no choice and I can't let you have one either. You may not love Ryoko yet, but I still do.'

The stark neon displays were scattered like piercing pins of light around her and sent dots of light sparkling like shining moon drops into her black pupils, as cold and black as a frozen night sky. Yet Washu's eyes still seemed distant and vacant as she stared through the moment and into something far beyond. 

Her statue composure and stone vacancy was observed by a vigil of silence broken only by the eternal droning song of the humming machines and occasional click of a key or bleep of a screen. Throughout the looping hours of her cycling days those were the only sounds that repeated in her ear, as if she was the only person in the world. 

And in some ways she was. 

She sat surrounded by cards, letters, words of contact, physical proofs that she was alive, that she meant something to someone, all dated and signed centuries before. That flow of recognition had stopped dead lifetimes ago, but it never stopped her hopeful heart from fluttering with anticipation when she would check everyday, but in the end that heart would always end up shot down and bruised. The lined up cards were now the only a reminder of her past, like a shrine to the dead. It was sad, especially since most of those cards, the ones displayed with the most pride and prestige had come from a girl who lived only steps away. 

It is heartbreaking when an anchor to your past, a corner stone of your life rejects you. You suddenly realise that its all gone, the comfort, the familiarity, the defining moments of your happier days have been torn from you and what hurts even more is that you can't imagine what you have done to deserve it. Its like you suddenly glance at the calendar and realise its been one day too long and that its all been a waste, that the boat has sailed on without you, or like standing in the aftermath of some ill-chosen words and trying to trace the offence in them. You're just left standing, muttering discontent words as your thoughts waft back to those happier times when the skies were clear and blue and wonder why those moments of joy suddenly seem erased and lost. 

As Washu touched the fear-churning sides where loving arms had once held her and the dry crusts of tear tracks on the cheeks that small lips had once kissed, she could do nothing but close her eyes and hope, no pray, for a bright blue sky. She was constantly enveloped by this melancholy sense of loss however there was something else that would hang in the air around her. 

Unnoticed, or ignored, by Washu was the deep, scathing sense of irony that would whisper in a paranoid mind like a vengeful, bitter wind but the irony of it all was that Washu's mind was not paranoid, it was compassionate. This had become her world, a lonely realm of faceless metal and soulless programs, a mechanical desert desolate of human contact and yet inside this maddening isolation she still had thoughts of love and concern. To think that she would sit banished in her secluded exile, torn from her warmths and comforts, and yet pass the time thinking and worrying about her rejecting daughter. There was something very sad and ironic about that but for whatever lucid or subliminal reason Washu pointedly refused to acknowledge it. 

With a gasp that was drawn out by her stretched sense of despair and gloom she brought her empty eyes back into focus and rested them upon the radiant scrolls of writing that shone before her and read, once again, the standard report that read like a proclamation of doom. 

Calculations and projections completed for 'Masaki, Tenchi.' 

Organic pattern test - positive 

Astral pattern test - positive 

Overdimension and Parallel Pattern test - positive 

Psycho Layer Pattern test - positive 

Suspicions confirmed with a 97.8% certainty. 

Her idle fingertips hovered above the keys, contemplating, wondering, awaiting an easy route out of this unnaturally disturbing dilemma but, just like the letters, she knew that none would come. Love couldn't be altered with the flick of a switch, there would be no easy solution, the computer would calculate no logical response for there was none. 

There was only desperation and drastic plans so extreme that they sprouted from the muddled minds of either the insane or the frantic. Could Washu, caring futile mother, really commit such outrageous acts? Could she . . . . 

Her furrowing thoughts were overshadowed as the border bells rang out, the cell doors swayed slowly open and an outsider delicately tread into her desolate domain. 

Foreign feet, blind in the masking darkness, fumbled slowly across the obstacles laden floor, sending clumsy echoes chorusing through the hidden depths of black. Darting eyes focused on the illuminated scientist and the shell of dancing lights that encased her like a beacon shining in the dark storm's sky. Those unsure feet staggered their way towards this beacon, like a lost ship swaying in the thrashing currents, as they tripped and stumbled over unknown traps below them, each step a leap of faith. 

She reflected an indifferent glance towards the intruder's direction, her exploring mind and charred heart already knowing it was not who she longed for. As the her ears listened to the approaching fumbles her marble green eyes watched the developing figure form against the pool of firefly displays that jumped in her eyes. First came a tone outline quickly followed by a shaded form as it lurched forward in an awkward stumble but soon the figure became defined and accented by the unearthing lights that its trance-like steps seemed drawn towards. Soon she could see colour in the skin, read confusion on the face and feel a strange note of disappointment at the sight. It was nothing more than the root of her problem, Tenchi. 

"It's a bit dark in here Little Washu," he smiled with a friendly approach warming his words, "Why are you working in darkness?" 

Motionlessly absorbing his words she considered their meaning and observed her murky surroundings that enclosed her like a blindfold to the world. It seemed natural, a blanket of darkness like a majestic dress that flowed from her dazzling throne and carpeted the vast expanse of her cold kingdom. It reflected her mood, the lair of the scheming black widow, the threatening dark cloud that held the brewing storm, the midst of a gathering dark intention. In recent days it had become her natural habitat. 

"Nothing interesting, just part of an experiment," she lied in more ways than one, a fake but friendly bounce being forcibly vaulted into her flat, depressed tones, "What can I do for you?" 

"Oh nothing, its just that lunch is ready," he replied with a shaded yet gentle smile and deep excepting eyes whose dark pools were host to a thousand flickering star-point-lights, "I was wondering if you were coming to join us." 

"Sure," she chirped with the songful voice of a young fledgling but the heart of a withering crow. Her hands heaved outwards like twisted wings and weary fingers, sapped of encouragement and interest, went to work. As each program was sent to sleep, the brilliant illuminations that had shone in orbit around her began to slowly fade like tiny candles being snuffed out one by one, the deepening tones of darkness advancing on them. 

As the last neon star vanished from sight a cat's-eye path of light awakened from the floor with an echoing shunt as they lit a safe path out. Warm cores of light, like glowing stepping stones, were lined like a runway, a red carpet for a lonesome procession. She walked with confidant, almost regal strides down that path, letting the sprouting glows splash and wash waves of colour onto her grey face and drained hair and cast bold shadows in the echoing wake of her footsteps. 

The only other sound was the timeless one note drone of her bland creations, a tedious fanfare to their departing Queen and a sharp reminder that her kingdom would await her inevitable return.

------------------------------- 

Across the cramped, bustling lunch table, Washu watched her beloved yet painfully distant daughter with a stirring spark of thunder-struck fear in her eyes, the sort of terrified glance more appropriate for spotting a defenceless child wander onto a busy road, and in a sense completely justified. The drooping blue and yellow sleeves coiled around Tenchi's neck like stripped snakes and tried to lure him into a warm embrace. Ryoko was still trying in vain, each move like a call in the night, hopeful and unanswered. Yet her daughter's undying spirit remained buoyant, still waiting faithfully for his return of affection. 

If only she knew the truth. 

It was that flickering flame, that faint hope that Tenchi could love her, that was the entire foundation Ryoko's haunted, confused life. Her existence had become a flimsy house of cards precariously balanced on this single rock solid belief and it although it denied all logic and sense, Washu's strong maternal emotions compelled her to protect her daughter's flawed hopes, with a frenzied desperation. 

It was a strong instinct woven into the strongest dyes of her emotions, a bold screaming nature that was impossible to ignore and so unbearably painful to be denied. She would willingly char skin or shred flesh to protect Ryoko from pain, but far worse than the bitter artic winds or hellish flames that she would voluntarily endure was the rejected helplessness of her deprived isolation. She stood shield and sword, ready to defend and nurture, only to be brazenly informed that she wasn't required, no, that she wasn't wanted. All she could do was watch as each passing moment twisted in her heart like an eternity of torture. 

"Ryoko," a word that held such fathoms of spiralling dizzy yet powerful emotions in Washu's heart was spoken like a contemptuous profanity as Tenchi sharply squirmed away from her coiling arms as if they really were venom fanged serpents. The treasured mind link, the only thin thread that remained between her and her daughter, suddenly became a hideous curse as it spewed forth waves of anguish straight from Ryoko's bleeding heart. 

Everyone was looking at her, Ayeka was laughing, she had made a fool of herself again. She had opened up her scarred heart and as it had been presented, exposed and unguarded, it had stabbed once more, stabbed by the very one she had so willingly offered it too. The broken trust, the humiliation, the embarrassment, all burned in her cracked heart like golden coals that slowly wilted through a raging torture. 

She felt small, substandard and shamed. She knew that she wasn't perfect but she had tried, she had taken her whimpering soul, battle scarred and haunted, and thrust it into one final battle, and now that soul lay crawling, writhing in pools of crimson rejection, wounding words and lethal neglect. Her breaths lost rhythm as that soul gasped strained breaths of stale air, her hands trembled as her soul's pasty limbs convulsed in erratic pleas and a hidden tear trickled down her cheek as sickly trails of blood seeped from its sides. 

Much as she ironically understood, shared and sympathised with the dejected nature of her daughter's suffering Washu was chained to the same fate. Her muscles trembled, wavering between the yearning to comfort her child and the knowledge of what the consequences for such actions would be, so instead of acting she acted, she acted like it was all right and that it didn't really matter, just like Ryoko did. Mother and daughter both restraining their aching souls, trying to salvage whatever worth was left for them, sharing twin sorrows but on separate sides. So close yet so far. All she could do was restrain herself and endure the sight of the irreparable damage being inflicted. 

Or was it. 

Cast against a familiar setting, familiar feelings had once again surfaced. The protective parental yearnings, now thoroughly associated with the natural light of day, pumped through her heart with a passionate life and coursed through her veins with its regular fury, but those yearnings coursed down rare and fresh channels as they focused not on the moment but rather on the future. 

If this was Ryoko now what would she be like in a few days, tomorrow, tonight, whatever random moment that revealed the horrid truth to her. What would happen when the ground crumbled beneath her feet and her longing heart lost the will to beat again? 

Washu knew exactly what would happen and it was for that reason that her emotions flared and swelled to new crashing heights, potencies that her soul struggled to manage and her principles paled in the face of. Self-righteous comforts were cleared from her thoughts and replaced by the notion that the ends would justify the means and all of the sinister plots that fringed that belief. 

Her philosophy had been so altered by this discovery to the point that her mind now resembled an undeveloped photo, inverted and dark. Ideas that she would have once labelled insane now appeared perfectly lucid and understandable through these new eyes and to add to her unpredictable nature was the colossal pressure and strain of this awful knowledge as it thrust her forward, pushing her through doors and avenues without a moment's consideration. 

They say that knowledge is power but this knowledge weakened her knees, quivered her soul and spun her mind like a twisted maelstrom of bright hopes and dark plans. 

And now she stood at the land's end, the very edge, the selected moment in eternity where she would choose a path that would affect the lives many more than herself. She could either follow the lure of her dutiful desires or relinquish to the shackles of her morality. 

With less than a second's thought she stepped boldly forward with her decision. 

"Lady Ayeka," she spoke through numb lips that quivered with the lingering sting of her emotional pain, "Could I see you in my lab after lunch. I need your assistance with something." 

And so it was set in motion, the dark beast that had lurked in Washu's mind breathed it first breath of life. The table was ringed with facades and gentle lies, an illusion of life, the shimmering surface that sheathed the hidden fathoms of truth. She wouldn't let her daughter drown in it and she would change this world to its very core to do so. 

She had tried to save them both, mother and daughter together, but with the passing of each day her hopes slowly faded into dismal reality. She couldn't save both of them but she could save one. The cost would be high but she would make the sacrifice and save Ryoko from what lay ahead. 

Her Little Ryoko needed her. 

End of Chapter One 

Note - Any feedback would be greatly appreciated as I'm finding it harder to write these days and I'm really unsure of how I'm doing. Thanks.


	2. The first step (A step too far?)

No Choice Chapter 2

I don't own Tenchi Muyo.

**No Choice**

**By The Great El Dober**

****

**Chapter Two - The first step (A step too far?)**

The rain falls not in sheets nor in buckets but in drops, each one plunging a dizzy dance through the vast dark sky, each one whipped and stumbled in the same harsh, bitter winds, yet each one different, separate from the rest. 

The world is much the same, we all live under the same sun, we are all ailed and healed by similar means yet behind each closed door, contained in each moment of privacy is a different world. Every wall is a divide, every barrier a border, every turned corner or opened door a doorway to another world where what you left behind no longer exists. 

There are countless worlds that have passed beyond your reach, thousands of sights you'll never see, millions of words you'll never hear and scores of acts that you will be powerless to stop, or even know occurred. 

Nowhere is this truer than in Washu's dark world, one of the most barren and desolate of all. 

The light streamed down from the heavens like vibrant waves of warmth pooling through the windows and sailing smoothly through the air before splashing its cups of colour and comfort on the border door, the threshold between a house in Okayama and a far different world. 

The door stood tall and firm like a soldier on guard, the defence line of Washu's world. It faced vigilantly outwards, its back turned to the barren darkness and relentless misery that it shielded. Beyond that doorway lay another world, a lawless land with alien technologies, boundless possibilities and a solitary ruler. With her world's weapons at her feet Washu could do anything she wanted, she could commit any crime, indulge in any sin, all in sanctuary of her own private playground. 

And yet the outside world let this pass, the birds still sang their rehearsed songs, the sun still climbed its designated path and life was settled into a gentle tranquillity. Whether they were silenced by their powerless futility or by their trusting faith in Washu's morality, no soul was shaking at the thought of Ayeka walking into Washu's lair unaccompanied and unarmed. 

No one suspected anything. 

------------------------------- 

_"Mum! Mum where are you?" _

_"In the kitchen dear," the comforting, familiar hum of Washu's voice answered distantly, both in body and tone. It was a muffled call, faded by the walls that stood between the hall where Ryoko searched and the kitchen table where a preoccupied hand flipped yet another page of one of the books that had been pulled from the disordered spine of spines that lay on the shambolic table, each in turn to be examined through the focused yet engrossed, spectacle gaze of Washu. _

_"Hi Mum!" the young girl greeted as she burst into the room with a leap of vigour and untamed life, "I've got a present for you!" _

_It was with these curious words and the potential of where they may lead, that Washu finally relinquished her reading and turned her eyes to the smiling child that stood before her with a bright expression of excitement, colour and something else, a hidden root, something more fragile yet also more compelling . . . _

_. . . hope? _

_As Ryoko's young golden eyes looked up at her high mother, her hands hiding behind her back, her lips painting an endearing smile, there was an innocence and frailty in her gaze. Although her sitting mother's eyes were on a level equal to her own Ryoko was still looking up, up at someone so close yet so far, a foundation to her life whose abilities and interests were as far from Ryoko as the vast sky was from the ground, and it was from this lower ground that Ryoko looked up from. _

_In Ryoko's naïve mind her mother was something set apart from the rest, something special. She seemed like a glorious Queen, emanating sheer magnificence, endless achievement and a less understood yet realised sense of chaste virtues. It was these admirable merits that made her special, that made Ryoko perceive her mother as being better, on some superior plane. In truth the young girl had been woefully wrong but the sum of her limited experiences had led her to believe so and in turn left her striving for an acceptance and attention that was not always there for her. _

_"Here," she animatedly chirped as her small arms swung around from the shelter of her back, "I picked some flowers for you!" _

_As Washu's touched eyes rested upon her gift the content drumbeat of her heart was thrust into a sudden blast of raw, ripping shock. It trembled with a thunderous chorus of distress, anguish and a small flavour of pride. _

_Ryoko's tiny hands grasped a posy of roses, a picturesque collage of blossomed reds, a selected offering, the deep red petals highlighting the intimacy of this personal gesture as they blended with the rich tones of Washu's hair. Yet Washu's heart quaked with horror at the sight of it, for as her child held out her token of love she grasped the thorny stem with a fastened fist as the same deep, intimate red oozed through her small fingers. The blood stained roses, coated by the pricked punctures of her daughter's extending hands, filled Washu's soul with a pulsing, protective, parental instinct but also with a sense of honour, an appreciation for this sprained sacrifice. _

_Yet it was the parental impulse that dominated, it was the sword and shield that came out. _

_"What have you done to yourself!" she spluttered, with raw, confused tears sending quakes through her throat, her urgent words like thrusting arrows wavering in their path yet bearing piercing tips. The enchanting books were cast aside as Washu leapt from her chair, her frantic movements and watering eyes imploring her daughter to stop this senseless pain. _

_Yet all she appeared to do was cause more. _

_Ryoko's bright young stance suddenly shrank into a timid shadow, her glorious smile descending into a fearful face of confusion, her broken smile a symbol of her shattering hope. Her flinching hand dropped the tarnished roses, letting them fall like dying comets, spearheaded with a vibrant face of colour and trailed with a tail of red. _

_"I'm sorry Mum," she stammered, whipping her pierced palm into view as the small wounds began to miraculously heal themselves, "but it's okay, see its all better now, its okay." _

_"That doesn't mean its okay to hurt yourself," Washu insisted with a flaring passion and uncompromising finality. Her voice struck with the bold projection and overpowering energy that had enraptured and electrified countless lecture halls in her glorious past but as Washu looked into the tearing eyes of her intimidated child it became shamefully apparent that she wasn't on a podium delivering a vigorous sermon, she was on her knees comforting a confused young girl. _

_"Its okay darling," she soothed in her most tender tones, letting streams of warmth and love flow smoothly into the calm waters of her soft words, "I just don't want to see you hurt." _

_"But you don't like the flowers," Ryoko responded, despondence weighing her words with grave sorrow and heavy shame until they hung mournfully like her downcast face, "They're ugly, aren't they." _

_"Oh no," Washu assured, a shallow innocence grafted to her words, a half-hearted truth that would pass unflawed in Ryoko's unripe mind, "I appreciate them, it was a lovely thing to do. Thank you." _

_Then to fulfil the meaning of her words and to preserve the thin illusion she had wrapped around her daughter like a warm blanket, she delicately fingered the bloody flowers from the floor and carried them to the table, tonging them carefully with her fingertips as Ryoko's deathly red blood smeared her skin. _

_The other hand had the far easier task of removing some old flowers from a vase on the table, some ceremonial token of attending something or other, a formal gesture with no warming significance or value. They were replaced by Ryoko's bleeding roses, stark vessels of earth shattering emotion delivered with every glance. Washu watched as the gored stems were lowered into the crystal urn, its glass walls as clear as the water it held, and imagined that this would be the laying to rest, the end of the matter. _

_She was wrong. _

_She watched as the roses, stained in blood, in turn dyed the life-giving water to a sickly shade of light red, a tinge of death. Nature's gifts now rested in the poisoned water that glimmered with the hue of the evening sky, their magnificence and attraction corrupted by their fouled surroundings. The gesture of love was now twisted, every time she would look to appreciate her daughter's gift she would be faced with the harrowing distress of seeing her child's blood. _

_Yet she couldn't decline the loving offering, she couldn't discard the fruits of her Little Ryoko's sacrifice. She had to keep that reminder of pain, despite the sorrow she would have to treasure those blood stained roses. _

_She had no choice. _

Washu reopened her eyes letting that warm glimpse of the past slip back into the vaults of her memory. Her wistful stare focused past the constellation of displays around her, past the black sea of darkness that enshrouded her domain, even past the dreary cell of reality and through the trail of time, back to her garden of Eden, the lost paradise she could never return to. The sweet memories of her past were so cherished and clear yet it had been civilisations ago. Life had changed so much since then. 

The world now seemed like an inverted realm, an alternate, twisted version were black was white, family was stranger and her warm home, once a hive of colour and joy, had become an empty, meaningless husk, barren, dark and lonely. 

The hunter had now become the hunted, it was now Washu that sought approval and praise from her daughter, it was the mighty scientist that now stood on lower ground and the timid child that now sat on the throne of worship. 

The roles had been completely reversed. 

That was why it would be okay, that was why Ryoko would be able to forgive. Just as Washu saw glimpses of her prime mirrored in her flowering daughter, Ryoko would surely see her faded reflection in her infantile, withering mother. 

Yes, Ryoko would understand, she would . . . 

"Washu! Where the hell are you!" 

"Ryoko?" Washu gasped softly, the word escaping her numb lips as softly as a sigh yet the gentle word was only the rim, the soft surface of titanic seas brimmed with emotion. Her racing heart was careering down slippery slopes, dashing towards hope and fear, anticipation and apprehension, pleasure and pain. 

For as she watched her daughter storm down the causeway of light in a relentless one man march, her heart warmed with delight at the prospect of her presence but it also cowered for cover, for the shadowed outline of Ryoko's lowered eyebrows, the vicious glint in her narrowed eyes as the dotting displays flickered like winter stars and the stone stern expression threatening from her face, it was clear that despite the prospect of her presence there was no potential for peace. 

"What the hell are you playing at Washu?" Ryoko speared her acid words with deadly fury through razor fangs like those of a spitting snake, "Think you can lock yourself away from us all, well you can't hide from me so since you won't answer to Tenchi then you'll just have to answer to me instead. What have the hell have you done to Ayeka?" 

Ryoko's blazing passion seemed strange, almost out of context and contradictory, but even she, the princess' archrival, even she had been disturbed when she had seen Ayeka sprawled there face down on her bed as if she had drowned in her covers. She had not moved or responded, she had barely breathed. 

The sight had ripped through Ryoko's bravado defences and struck her like a hammer to a bell, the rippling vibrations filing every thought in her mind, every time she tried to drive it out another wave brought it all back. She felt a sense of guilt and failure for she had secretly strived to avoid injuries like this. It had been the thin line she had lived on, throughout all the stormy fights and perilous play it had been her private mission to prevent pain and now her heart wept with a sense of neglected responsibility and meaningless efforts, efforts that were once glorious personal triumphs, now nothing but faint ghosts buried in vain. 

But beyond all those things, the deepest blow, the real storm that brewed in her enraged heart had been the torture of enduring Sasami's tears. To look into the small girls eyes and no longer she the warm greetings of her cheer or the fresh breeze of her happiness but to instead witness the dark depths of her confusion, of her anxiety, her fear. Her shimmering eyes amplified her torn emotions, her deep pupils seemed like bottomless pits, a downwards spiral frantically searching for answers that weren't there, it was this never-ending, solutionless dread that filled her tearful eyes and whimpering voice. 

It was like a raging cauldron out there, furious thoughts and boiling emotions electrified the air with a blistering tension sustained by frantic raised voices full of holes, lacking basic confidence or the sweet elusive assurance their unsettled souls craved. Ryoko couldn't bear it, she seemed to absorb their collective frustrations like a sponge and in truth she had only volunteered to storm the lab so she could ring it all out over her mother's head. Secondly, more important but far less intense, was the notion that 'informing' Washu would bring some actual competence to the table and this whole nightmare could end. 

In the core of her heart she never truly expected what followed. 

"I can't tell you that," Washu whispered in reply, her shamed words sounding more like a guilty confession than a simple statement. 

"Oh my God, you've really done something haven't you?" Ryoko gasped, the fiery vigour drained from her voice and replaced with a subdued whisper, the fading sound of her dying insight and the small spark of a far more sinister replacement. But as time moved on and her disillusioned question was met only with a downcast silence, Ryoko's volatile temper burst back into life in a thunderous explosion of blazing words. "God damn it, you're such a fucking idiot! I know that you're trying to get on my good side but this time you've gone too far. If you've done what I think you've done . . . do you even know what will happen?" 

"But you don't understand," Washu persisted with a yearning plea in her words, the true texture of her emotions flowing free in her distraught voice. Despite her fragile soul, wormed with distress, she bravely opened her arms, surrendered her precious defences and exposed her heart, much like Ryoko had only hours before, as she moved forward to embrace her daughter, to soothe Ryoko's obvious frustration with her gentle love like the peaceful lyrics of a lullaby. Her touching gesture was led by the soft promise, "Its okay, you'll see, it'll all be okay." 

"Don't touch me!" Ryoko stabbed, her words impaling the tender flesh of her mother's heart as her snapping hand slapped the warm outpouring of love into a raw winter of rejection. 

"You're nothing but a child Washu," she barked viciously, her last shreds of patience caving in, her last thoughts of restraint dissolving and her temper incensed by the embarrassment and unease the exchange had caused her, "You're just a burdensome child trying to mimic a role you can't understand. Well if you want to play Mummies and Daddies then that's fine but don't play around with my life." 

And then her hellstorm tirade began to drizzle away, a fresh silence carpeted the tense air as Ryoko searched deep into her mother's eyes, surveying the damaged her barbed words had inflicted. In those deep pools of green she saw the violent fires, her mother's heart set alit, being slowly scorched in a ravaging inferno of ill chosen words and runaway tempers. 

Ryoko was a destroyer, eons of carnage had structured her life, she wasn't a healer, she lacked the words to douse her mother's anguish. All she could offer was closure, to seal the matter, punctuate the point and hope that time would soothe the damage. 

"Don't play around with my life," she repeated, an iron tone of stern severity toughening her bold words, "I'm not your plaything." 

It had been a pulled punch, the soft allusion to her daughter's horrid past as a helpless captive could have devastated Washu's frail soul but the subtlety allowed her to filter the meaning out, to ignore what may have been meant. Yet with that Ryoko drew the line, she turned around and with composed, controlled steps fled back down the trail of light. Her intended escape from uncertainty and frustration had only infested her with more doubts and questions, fears that struck deeper, suspicions that lurked in darker territories and problems that were broader, bolder and unsolvable. 

Washu made no final attempts or pleas. She was in a motionless trance, set in a statue stance by the numbing whirlpool of emotions that swirled in her, blurring her thoughts, dispersing her composure and fading her feelings until everything became a single sensation, a searing perspective of the moment that smouldered in the core of her soul. 

She simply watched as Ryoko left, she watched as the soft illuminations cast a magnificent glow on her daughter's tall, firm form, she listened as each striding step sliced through the silence with a bold definition, she admired as Ryoko filled her with a yearning pain, a forsaken suffering but also a wholesome pride. She imprinted that memory, that warm felling to her memory like a proud emblem to a banner and, with a wounded arm, raised it high above her head. It was her reason to continue, it was all she had. 

"Don't worry my little Ryoko, it's going to be all better . . ." 

Her soft whispers barely scratched the surface of the air as they petered through the vast chambers of the lab, the charged arena that had once again become nothing but the bleak vessel of a lonesome life. 

". . . its going to be all better." 

------------------------------- 

The world is much like the falling rain and we are much like the falling drops. We are all spiralling towards a universal fate, we are all destined to hit the ground . . . 

. . . just some sooner than others. 

**End of Chapter Two **

Note - Thanks to everyone who sent invaluable feedback to the last chapter. I was just having a real tough time writing. In fact if I hadn't got that encouraging feedback I probably wouldn't have written again. 

Thanks.


	3. Of Love and Loss

I don't own Tenchi Muyo. 

No Choice 

By The Great El Dober 

Chapter Three - Of Love and Loss

She stood on the moonlit veranda, traces of the warming comforts seeping through the open door and tickling her turned back. However not even the fading glow of a lit house or the dissipating drones of a deserted television could detract from the still beauty of the sleeping sky. 

A bold blanket of dark had been drawn over the world as it softly slept. She couldn't hear the people talking, the birds weren't singing their sunshine songs, even the flowing streams seemed to rest, the daylight's background noise had gently died away and in its place reposed a rich silence. 

She stood perfectly still, even her blazing locks that would sway and swing with every frantic movement were settled into a pacified passion, their sapped red at peace under the silent moon. A soft whispering wind stroked at her skin, the touch of the chilled night air embracing her, heightened the soft feeling of fabric against her skin and adding a constant sensation that gave every movement, every moment extra depth. It was a threshold feeling that fuelled her thoughts and coaxed her emotions. 

But how could anyone not be moved by this wondrous site? The vast majestic night sky spilt its black blood over the world as constellations of glittering grains were scattered across in a random yet magnificent pattern making the dead sky look like an enchanting graveyard of lost lights, ghostly quiet, hollow yet somehow alive. 

This ceaseless stretch of wonder threw its mammoth mass over the world, casting its grand shadow over all below. Without the soulless glow of her creations even Washu found herself swallowed by this dark eclipse. Definite outlines became faint, colour was drained and horizons ceased to exist, after five metres the world seemed to slip way into limitless darkness, a darkness that she was a part of. She felt like a drop in the ocean, the shades of darkness like waves on a storm lashed sea and as she looked up to the jewelled sky she imagined herself as a wave amongst an ever-changing ocean. 

She would be ceaseless, powerful, eternal . . . 

. . . yet she would never go anywhere, she would always be restricted to the deep. There would be nowhere to run, no place to hide and should she fall under then she would drown, she would forever scream silent cries as the slaying pain choked her soul but there would never be any release. Her existence would be escapeless, she would be a prisoner to herself. 

So what did the mighty sea with all its thunderous rage and splendour have to strive for? Another timid lapping of the boundary shores? Another tantrum storm, lashing out at its cell walls? What was left? 

That was were her thoughts really lay, not to the picturesque night sky but to the raging storm that brewed just beyond the surface, the colossal clash of fates that was destined to erupt under this silent sky. 

She knew that things would never be the same, life could never return to the same routines and practices, never again. She had chosen this path and despite her daughter's impulsive assumptions she knew exactly where it would lead . . . 

. . . after tonight she could never see Ryoko again. 

This was no meagre act, just like a falling raindrop landing in a tranquil puddle the effects would ripple out significantly and indiscriminately. The radius of the repercussions would be immense, both desirable and unfortunate, but nowhere greater than the focal point, Washu herself. 

She was on a crash course with a volatile fate, an emphatic hour steeped in sorrow and influencing impact. A phoenix can only rise from ashes and if Washu desired to give birth to change she would have to demolish, she would have to destroy. 

She could hear it, just below the still surface of the sleeping sky she could hear the roar of the beast she had created, a brute titan with an earth shattering might and a cruel purpose. It strained at its chains with looming thunder its cry and Washu knew she couldn't restrain it much longer, the moment of unleashing came closer with each turn of time. 

Yet despite imminent disaster the calm motionless peace of this soft nightfall was a fitting setting. As she looked into the endless streaks of space she dipped back into her own infinite history. Days, years, centuries, what span of time had her eyes witnessed? How many lost moments were nurtured only in her memory, how many keys did only she hold? Countless faces, forgotten names, dead languages, buried civilisations, the empires that had rose and fell as she slept, she had lived through them all. She had marvelled at the beauty of blossoms on foreign fields, seen a hundred alien starlit skylines and observed the lives and loves of countless cultures. For every star in the sky there was a moment in Washu's mind. 

And now all that would change. 

It was the twilight of an era, the gentle sky lulling the ghosts of the past into oblivion like dying embers. It wasn't the cataclysmic cry of war, the sounds that played in her soul weren't the crashing cymbals or thunderous drums as they throbbed with the intense beat of lethal fate. Instead it was the soft, tender sound of the cello as it wound down to the end of the song. 

". . . the end." 

------------------------------- 

"Why?" 

The lone word strayed down the chilled breeze but was only answered with the continued march of tired footsteps. Ryoko had patrolled the grounds for hours trying to exorcise the demons that invaded her mind but like her wandering feet her thoughts had no destination, they simply drifted between fears. 

Her strewn memories were haunted by desecration, butchery and death, and the implied malice of the day had awoken all these gorged nightmares in her soul. They painted all of her expectations with streaks of blood and aroused her greatest fear, that the cushion she had hoisted her dented life onto was being torn away and she falling back into the filth of murder and malevolence. 

The past had held greater perils with more baleful brutes but nothing ever as distressing as her mother's apparent mutiny. It was like a tumour, an internal invasion that couldn't be stopped unless they surgically slice and sever the bonds that held them together which gave rise to yet another soul seizing fear, that she could be amputated, that she could once again carry the infamy of another's sins, that she might become a collateral victim of this fabled association. 

Fabled? 

It was this other topic that had become Ryoko's respite as she drove her grim forecasts out her mind with deep consideration over the derelict relationship that Washu seemed determined to drag from its grave. 

Perhaps Washu was right, perhaps they had once belonged together like two tight cogs in the workings of life but so much had changed since those days of innocence, now they were both battle scarred, bruised and beaten. Like worn cogs they no longer fitted together, their harmony had been eroded into obstruction and damage. 

The soured purity now reeked of stale memories and vinegar tears. It had become another stain on Ryoko's soul, another imposed burden to pin her liberated spirit. Her life was already built on bones and blood, her confused memories echoed with shrill screams that bled away to silence and she was ceaselessly haunted by the most foul of all demons . . . 

. . . herself. 

As fresh, crystal cool water slipped down her throat her tongue would recall the thick coppery taste of blood, the warmth of a welcoming fire brought back the smoking smell of ruins, burnt and pillaged, and Sasami's innocent laughter reminded her off the countless children just like her treasured friend, the silenced souls that had lay stomped and brutalised under her unholy march. Every joy of life had been corrupted for her but of all the poor victims her chained fist had crushed she herself was the poorest. 

The most fiendish of dreams, so vile that not even hell could hold them, would waft and wind their twisted way up from the underworld, through her pillow and torment her sleep. She loosely led a bewildered existence riddled with flaws and rotten with guilt yet all her loving mother could offer was another pressure to crumble her fragile foundations. 

She struggled to live as an acceptable human being, how could she become the good daughter that Washu yearned for? 

She couldn't. 

The soft mumblings the warm house began to awake in the air as her fruitless roamings completed the circle of infinite questions and escaping answers as she found herself where had first embarked from. Weary and worn she relented to stop chasing phantom answers and wash her mind of the matter for now. With a heavy mind and thin hope she trudged her body back into the . . . 

"I've been waiting for you," a chameleon voice called out through the camouflage of darkness. Despite the short startle of panic that it detonated in Ryoko's heart the voice was soft, warm and brimmed with affection. Even before she saw her mother's shadowy figure she had knew who it was. Washu sat on the steps, her back against the beam and her eyes gazing towards her daughter as if she was as magnificent and distant as the stars themselves. 

Ryoko turned defensively round to face the seated and strangely placid Washu. There was something unusual about the limp poise of her seated, almost slumped mother. Something was different . . . 

. . . but Ryoko's concerns were not. 

"So are you going to tell me now?" she demanded, her ruthlessly stiff tones wedging a formal distance between them. Her hard-hearted expression was without a thread of sociability and her golden eyes glared under the moonlight, burning with resenting emotions that lay somewhere between fierce impatience and muted hatred. 

"No," Washu replied, a brief stab of pain, the bite of her daughter's icy heart, escaping in her timid voice. But lurking fate became the wind under her wings as they prepared to spread once more. 

She scrapped and scrambled at the base of her soul salvaging the last remnants of herself. The silenced lecturer, the forsaken mother, the slaughtered hope, she implored them all, the frozen ruins of lives long vanished. Yesterday she would have ran away and soothed her broken soul by dreaming of a better tomorrow but there was no longer a tomorrow left. 

Every emotion, every thought, every reserve in her soul was being burned to fuel her actions and as they smouldered into smoke Washu knew that this would be her final stand. 

"I still can't tell you that," she repeated with a gentle yet absolute voice, her words still as calm and lovesome but built on firmer ground, "but there is something you need to know, something you need to understand." 

"I'm listening," Ryoko complied, her bold irritation being faded by a reluctant interest but not washed away, impatience was still the cutting edge of her wounding words. 

"I don't blame you," came the tender reply, a intertwining duet of soft sorrow and sedate sincerity, "its not your fault." 

"What?" Ryoko furrowed in disorientated response. She didn't blame her? It wasn't her fault? These two fresh arrows struck Ryoko's bewildered soul with rupturing tips laced with a new poison . . . 

. . . doubt. 

"These words haven't yet ripened into their full meaning but hold them close until they do," Washu's praying eyes pleaded to her daughter's iron wall expression that voiced her stinging suspicions, "Please, I'm not going to lure you into accepting or forgiving. I'm not trying to sell you a sermon either, these are simply words that I think you should hear. What you do with them is up to you." 

It was an offer she could easily refuse, another lecture on the alleged merits of compulsory relationships and imposed ideas, but just as that dismissal prepared to leap from her tongue, just on the brink of that reaction was the nipping memory of their last talk. As always she understood the obligation expected of her, she despised the idea of being chained to it but for once she felt she deserved it. She had been tactless then and she had to atone for it now. 

"Fair enough," she softened after a weighing pause, a sharp "but you better not try anything," quickly added to balance her stance and maintain her social distance. However Washu brushed this tactical afterthought aside, cast her yearning eyes towards the magnificent choir of stars and spoke softly in a lingering gentle voice that drifted through the breeze with the subtle emotion and mournful beauty of a dying cello. 

"Did you know that the light from the stars takes millions of years to reach here? To think that our lives are lit by things that no longer exist. Perhaps the same is true of you and me," Washu began, her words like a sorrowful song of love and loss, "All that we shared is erased, so much love, such words of warmth, such acts of affection, all reduced to buried whispers locked in a perished past. Only I hold the key Ryoko. Where does that leave us? Halfway between memory and fantasy. I can't overthrow my nightmares with wisps of dreams, I realise that now. I can light a candle, I can nurture that glow in my heart but the darkness still surrounds me and it always will." 

There was a dead desperation in her voice, a fear that had already conquered her soul. It filled Ryoko with a sharp remorse that sliced at her heart's tough hide, not so much that it burst with shame, but enough for it to bleed. 

"You see the damage has been done, the past is not only set in stone but a part in us, a thread weaved into what we've become and we can no less change the past than we can unravel ourselves. If only you could see my dreams, a thousand thoughts of freedom, all of how I would change the what has passed, but just like there is no point in wasted wishes and naïve dreams there is also no point in denouncing the truth," Washu's words building to a climax, the brewing storm now over their heads. She took a deep icy breath, calmed her quivering lips and opened the heavens. "I know that I am a broken mother Ryoko, I know that I have been a condemnable failure but at least understand that I tried, that above it all I said I loved you and I meant it." 

"Perhaps you did," Ryoko admitted, her words suddenly coated with wisdom and candour. She spoke with the maturity reaching far beyond her appearance, her voice becoming sincere, a straight and righteous path to bear the truth. She removed her masks, scrapped away her walls of deception and opened up the shielded core of her thoughts. "Perhaps you meant every word of it and perhaps I even believe you but that doesn't change a bit of what's happened. It won't save you from whatever punishment awaits you and trust me, as someone who has already condemned themselves, I can assure you that whatever your intentions were they weren't worth it." 

"Perhaps not," Washu insisted, her gentle words reaching out like a soft stroke of a cheek, her voice sailing soothingly on sturdy seas of conviction and sentiment. "Only time will tell." 

A strong silence followed those words, the thoughts had been aired under the frosty sky and the cruel mistake had been repented. They had little else to discuss, but for friction they shared nothing. 

The silence hung in the wintry air between them like a gaping canyon, a crater caused by a mangled past, but now that the surface of voice was broken two soft sounds emerged from their sanctury in the shadows. First was the rough rhythm of frayed breaths, the sound of a struggling body on the threshold of collapse. It was only then that Ryoko noticed the silver tears of sweat trickling down her mother's cheeks and her sharp pants of nipping breaths as she lay slumped and slung against the stiff beam like a broken puppet. 

It conjured alarm in Ryoko's heart but it was swiftly overshadowed by the second sound, the surfacing sound of approaching footsteps, each step closer, each sound louder as it was exhaled from the warm womb of the house. Even before his welcoming face emerged from the snug glow of the open door they both knew who it was. 

"Here you two are," Tenchi greeted, his warm words not inconsiderate of the crisis, instead they were simply coated with a deathless optimism, his pleasant approach a symbol of his concrete hope as it burned brightly, resolutely and naively, "What are you talking about? Have you figured out how to save Ayeka?" 

It was only then, in the sterile silence that followed, that Ryoko realised they hadn't even skimmed the issue of the endangered princess. Instead they had indulged in minor matters of personal discord but now that those issues were spent perhaps her talkative mother would finally release whatever secrets she harboured. Ryoko settled her anticipating eyes on her mother and watched as Washu's frost-kissed lips opened like the gates of truth. 

"I have ordered some flowers Tenchi," Washu spoke with waning strength yet her words fortified by a strange calm and peace in her voice, "Some red roses. Could you please grant me one favour?" 

"I guess so," he replied with slight confusion and a slither of concern, concern that these words alluded to some grave meaning, that it might hold some grievous connotation and these words were leading to sorrow. Whatever tepid fears and thoughts singed his mind they were merely pale shadows what what would follow. 

"Could you place them on my grave." 

Washu's words struck Tenchi and Ryoko like falling planets, their cosmic impact overwhelming them with its potent might and it's vast consequences so heavily severe that for a moment they were almost incomprehensible. Fresh thoughts were being generated in their minds and fresh blades were being slid into their souls, this was another puncture in their strained hearts and weary minds. 

"I don't think that . . ." 

But Tenchi's hopeful dismissal was abruptly silenced as Washu's slumped spine was jarred by a strained spluttering cough, the coarse sound of which scrapped through their ears like an awkward whine. The strong splutter juddered her weakened body, her forceless limbs thrown into a short spurt of convulsion. It was then that those fearful thoughts that had been imagined but not entirely considered were given true birth. 

A small glass medicine bottle clunked softly on the damp ground as it fell from Washu's watery grasp and slowly rolled out into the light. Suddenly this simple container, a mundane instrument of everyday life, provoked a flurry of hectic thoughts in its masters' minds. It became a vehicle for possible futures, a doomful glimpse of what was about to pass. 

Ryoko curiously knelt down in the dew to examine this strange yet worrying discovery as it lay there, uncapped and empty. The ruddy orange tint glowed under the white moon with the same soulless shine as amber street lamps, the haunted glass like a vial of ghostly dreams. 

The bandage label was filled with unfamiliar names and undecipherable terms but as her mother failed to wholly contain a muffled groan of pain Ryoko no longer needed to read the overdose warnings in order to understand the dire horror of what was happening. 

She looked fearfully up at her slouched mother, straight at the heavy eyelids that threatened to conceal those deep green eyes as they stared back, full of apologetic emotion but also, for the first time Ryoko could recall, peacefully serene. 

"Mom?" 

That one word spoken with such distraught dread was a window to Ryoko's soul and despite all the rejections and pain, despite all of the words and weapons, Washu could see that in that window a candle still burned for her. As she looked into Ryoko's fraught eyes she once again saw the reflection of a mother, even if that reflection was steeped in tears. 

With the murmurs of strength she still commanded Washu smiled a feather soft smile. That one word, although an omen for sorrow and misery, had warmed her bleeding heart, thawed her icy isolation and lifted the dismal mist that hung over her soul. It was only in her dying breaths she was finally healed. 

And as she watched helplessly, frozen with confusion and concern, Ryoko felt a falling raindrop gently kiss her head and although she couldn't hear it, in a world far detached the eternal one note drone of the soulless machines finally faded to silence. 

She was abandoned amidst a torrent of realised fears and breaking hearts, the brackish waves lashing her soul ceaselessly and drowning her in the flooding despair of the moment. The terrified pain she had seen in Sasami, the face of a soul being broken by fate, the downwards spiral winding between confusion and fear, that miserable image was now echoed on her own face. 

She was desolate, barren of answers and void of comprehension. The distressing scenes that unfolded before her seemed like a hellish nightmare whose logic had already vanished into waking sunlight, however the world was still soaked in shadows and the heartless nightmare was still very much alive. 

The demonic beast had snapped its shackles and climbed down from its cage in the clouds. It now clutched Ryoko's scarred soul in its brute fist, its crushing fingertips piercing her heart until it finally burst. 

She couldn't understand, she couldn't trace whatever phantom reason or unknown logic that governed over them now but as her mother's body began to shut down the gates and guards of the mind began to disintegrate like the crumbling walls of a falling fortress. The sacred link, the only surviving thread between them surged with one last spurt of life, it became a burning chariot of truth and understanding. 

"No," she gasped, the energy and power of her voice grasped by the sheer shock and haunting horror of unmasked reality. Her knees buckled beneath her and she collapsed to the ground, kneeling in grief as the salty tears began to streak down her quivering numb cheeks. She sobbed into her hands for she knew the reasons, she knew everything that her mother had knew. 

So as Washu's last pulses of life dwindled to eternal rest the only sounds under the silk soft sky were her daughter's soul-broken tears and Tenchi's scrambling sprint as he frantically sought help for Washu . . . 

. . . his love. 

End of Chapter Three 

Note - Confused? Enlightened? Perhaps things will make a little more sense now but if not there will be one more chapter to answer the unresolved questions, to fill the major plot holes (like just what happened to Ayeka anyway?), to give insight into the true mind state and motives of the characters and most importantly to show the outcome and consequences of it all. 

Secondly but far more importantly, I couldn't fit this into the story and for many it will go without saying but I want to make clear that any attraction Tenchi had would have been towards Washu's adult form. It matters little in the context of this story but I don't want anyone to misunderstand my opinions. 

And finally a lot of people say they are confused by the way the story is written. I know the story is a bit more complicated than normal but I wanted to push myself a bit further this time, trying to use more complex language, touching upon more serious issues and trying to weave in some more profound thoughts. Basically I tried to write a more mature (not that kind of mature) fic and at times I was probably in way over my head so if you have any questions I'll be more than happy to clarify what I meant.


	4. Consequences of Success

I don't own Tenchi Muyo

No Choice

By the Great El Dober

Some things are never meant to be, yet we still strive for them, never thinking that we may be better off without them. 

Chapter Four - Consequences of Success

Washu's Last Legacy

Most mothers would sacrifice anything to save their children but how many would sacrifice their principles, how many would become what they hated just to rescue their child? 

And how many would go even further than that? 

How many people would make a sacrifice to bring their greatest desire to birth, even if that sacrifice meant they would never live to see it? 

I may not be Ryoko's mother anymore, I may not deserve that honour but I can still be the mother of her future, I can still give birth to her happiness. 

And perhaps it will be a plastic world that I impose on them, a compulsory life built on feathery dreams and watery hopes, but if chaining her to contentment is her only chance of experiencing it then that is what I have to do . . . 

. . . I have no choice. 

------------------------------- 

"Disease?" 

The shrill shriek filled the lab with an ear-stabbing whine, the tone of the voice filled with thoughts of absurdity and disbelief. 

"Yes, you have contracted a very serious illness and unless I operate now the chances are that you will die." 

Washu's reply was clinically exact and unvenomed. Her alarming words came out flat, her dynamic flare sapped away as her customary passion was leased to other concerns. This was a side issue that could become a burdensome obstacle with some haughty tempers and stubborn minds. 

"But that's impossible, my Royal Jurain Tree . . ." the Royal whimpers continued, every bead of fear in her soul harvested in her agitated voice. 

". . . was destroyed." Washu finished flatly. There was no enthusiasm or passion in her words, these were just recited facts concerning a smaller matter for her heart was rooted elsewhere. "It can't protect you any more. Trust me Ayeka, this danger is very real." 

The condescension in Washu's voice aggravated the delicate nerves of royal pride yet freshened the realisation that those prides and privileges were now void. There were no longer princesses and pirates, only people. 

Here she was simply a person, just another flower in the field doomed to lose its roots, deaden its vibrant petals, wither and die. To her mortality had been a concept of battle, an issue of swords and shields and now she had to realign her thinking to accept it as a part of everyday life, a silent threat that would forever follow her. 

Suddenly a thousand thoughts were born in her, an army of fear was raised up in the pit of her heart and ruthlessly assaulted her mind. Fleets of demons descended upon her soul and savaged it, erecting camps of terror and dread. Suddenly her world had become a very different place. 

Her mothers, father, sister, brother, they would all die. Her royal grasp could seize whatever it wished but it couldn't keep it, not forever, someday she would have it all ripped away from her and that day could be only steps behind her. These thoughts were the ammunition for the cannons that relentlessly ignited sparks of alarm in her soul. 

She tried to think, she attempted to decide on an answer and somehow escape this excruciating misery, but every time she tried to clear her mind she was maimed by another explosion of fear. There was a deeper root, a battlefield in her soul, and she couldn't touch it, she could only suffer it. 

"Can I have time to think about it?" 

From the lips that had launched a million regal commands limped a humble plea, the regal majesty of her grand elocution frayed into a timid mumbling by the corroding fears as they rusted and rotted her assured beliefs, the pillars of her soul. 

"No," Washu declared with level calm and authority. Her voice, though detached, was a cold wall of resolution without a single crack that any argument could breach, "It's now or never. The operation is harmless today but I won't be able to carry out the procedure tomorrow." 

The gradual trickling river that spawned her fears burst its banks with the torrential urgency of her dilemma. She was in danger, she knew that she was yet she still lingered in destruction's rampant path, she still stared idly at her reflection in the Scythe's blade. Why? 

Pride? 

Every time she thought of accepting salvation she felt the tug at her wrists, the shackles of pride and power, the chains that fed back into her own hands. Yet it wasn't that, pride was like a rusty lead crown, it was useless and only weighed her down making her decisions harder to bear but she had long abandoned it as a way of life. 

Beliefs? 

No. There was no written law forbidding it and her family had gained a reputation for seldom heeding taboos. No it wasn't that either, she knew that there would be no scorn or wrath to suffer, no penalty to pay, only relief and delight that she was safe. 

Fear? 

No, she was brave and strong, she was a valiant warrior and a future leader. 

Yet this was different, this was terminal. It was like facing death in the darkness, fighting was futile and failure was certain. Yes, it was fear that held her back, the fear of standing so close to the edge that rooted her to firmer ground. 

But on those comforting soils of certainty was a certain fate, an open grave awaiting her. There was nothing there for her except a cold slumber in the damp earth. Once the life froze to a stop in her veins there would be no more friends, no more family, no more laughter or tears, nothing. 

"I have no choice, do I?" she asked, the timorous words torn between smudged acceptance and sought assurance. 

"No, you don't." 

It was the blunt, untrimmed reply of a wandering mind but also the seal on the decision, the vindicating voice that soothed the slighter fears, that cleared the path just enough for Ayeka to push through. 

She took a deep breath, attempted to clench the trembling out of her hands and slowly laid herself down upon the long cold operating bed. It was a silent sign of consent and Washu asked for no more as she mechanically prepared the implements and devices that would tweak the scales of life and death. There were no soft assurances or bedside rituals, it was simply a mindless process, the chilling existence of a body whose thoughts flew far afield. 

"Well could you please grant me one favour," Ayeka's uneasy whisper plunged into the silence with the same apprehension that stirred disquiet in her mind, "This is most uncommon for Jurains. Could you please not tell the others until I'm ready for them to know." 

"Of course," Washu replied, her voice grim with the knowledge of the pains she knew that promise would bring her. A glimmer of humanity had been rammed into her flat voice and a shallow smile grafted onto her face as she tried to raise her own dead spirits and somewhat live up to the significance of the moment. "and Ayeka . . ." 

"Yes?" 

"I just want you to know that it was a pleasure knowing you," she whispered as she completed preparations on the anaesthetic. Her voice was still weary and faint but the words were no longer empty, a sense of honesty and sincerity coated them and filled them with life, "As this may be the last time we see each other." 

"What!" Ayeka started, her heart skittering in panic as those words conjured back all the fears she had strived to lock from view, "You said there were no risks!" 

"There aren't." 

With that solemnly spoken response Washu entered the command, opened the gates and released the agents into Ayeka's body. As smooth sleep began to trickle through her veins her fearful eyes stared back at the dark shadow-clad scientist who held her life at her mercy, and just before the flame of life left them they flashed with the horrid realisation of what Washu had truly meant. 

------------------------------- 

The fresh tint of the morning light began to mature into a noon glow as it pierced through the clouds in rays like cutting ribbons of harsh light laced with the slight bite of approaching winter. It was a moment in history, the chilled dawn light shining on the eve of a new beginning, a defining moment in shaken lives observed by the respecting silence of pacified nature. 

The recovering princess stood in the damp grass amidst fallen dew and falling tears. They all gathered around a headstone imbedded in the earth as it jutted out like the label of a document, the reference point of another filed soul, complete and closed. 

Ayeka's weak limbs shivered in the breeze as it carried the flavour of frost, numbed under the grasp of untempered emotions and trembled with the fear they brought. It wasn't a fear that you could face, it was an internal struggle, a realisation that had invaded and conquered for it was true. The poison had leaked into her skin and it was now a part of her, a shade of the background against every thought she had was formed. It was like a rouge paint that polluted every picture her mind created, like the bloody roses that had turned the water to a morbid red. Her thoughts were like that, angel-soft clouds infected by the cough of soiled fumes. Her life had been a view from behind a window but that window had now shattered leaving her naked to face the stinging storm. 

For every time she glanced at that stone it came to her like a sharp blast of frozen air, the horrid realisation that there were no longer princesses and pirates, they weren't even people, only corpse-seeds waiting to be sown. That small slab was like the seal on a life, the result of the equation, the sole product of the miraculous working of life. 

Every emotion, every decision, every freedom and love, all the fruits of our lives, the sweet taste that makes us what we are, time would corrode it away until it was nothing more than a forgotten faded slab, enveloped in moss and swallowed up into the universal stretch of oblivion. That was our worth, that paltry piece of rubble was the sum of the magnificent gift of life. 

In the end that was all we will ever be. 

And that was the true fear that unhinged her soul. It was inescapable, no money or power, wealth or knowledge, nothing within or without her grasp would ever make her immune. She could lock herself in the highest tower, in the farthest corner of the most sheltered land but death would always be lurking behind her with one hand on her shoulder. 

There was nothing she could do. 

So she just stood deathly still as her faint frame was shook under the onslaught of her sister's tears, Sasami's pained face thrown into her sister's dress in search of a cure, that soft cushion of comfort to soften the blow. 

She just stood there and let her plagued thoughts sift through the spiral of frightful questions. She could guess answers to most of them, or know where to seek those answers, but there was one question that lay in her mind, stagnant and unsolvable. 

Why? 

Why would anyone do this to themselves? 

------------------------------- 

The smoky-orange glow nestled in her palm as the ghostly glass seemed to smoulder under the touch of the white moon. She rolled it idly in her hands, its revolving form like the cycling thoughts that churned in her mind. 

Was it worth it? To never see your daughter smile from under a veil of white, to never see your grandchildren laugh and play, to banish yourself from the fruits of your own future, was that a fair price to pay for certainty? 

As she pondered the answer to that question she gazed through the turning glass as if she was staring through the wheel of time, as if each turn leaked a soft echo of the future, a sharp glance of what might be . . . 

"That's it Tenchi, I'm sorry 

but that's my final answer!" 

"No Washu I won't accept it! 

You can't just tell me no and 

expect these feelings to switch 

off, it doesn't work like that." 

"But Ryoko I never meant to hurt you.

It was a stupid mistake, a spur of the

moment slip. It'll never happen again, 

I . . ." 

"Just shut up Washu! I don't care 

what you thought, its what has happened 

that matters. You're little slip has ruined 

it, you've ruined my whole fucking life . . . 

. . . I HATE you!" 

"Do you know where Ryoko's gone?" 

"No." 

"Well do you know when she'll come back?" 

"I don't think she will." 

The bottle stopped dead in her hand, that was as much as she needed to see. She had known from the beginning that love couldn't be altered with the flick of a switch, that there would be no easy solution, that her computer would calculate no logical response because there was none. She could stop the horse from drinking but she couldn't force it away from the water, it would just stand and stare thirstily, yearning only for the forbidden fruit that could quench its desire and nothing else. 

Yes, the solution would never be as simple as that, perhaps in time yes it might have worked out but time required endurance and her scarred heart couldn't stomach that anymore, it was only able to spew one last bleeding burst of reckless abandon. 

Beyond all the hopes and bent perspectives she knew that one night her cold lonely bed would become too much to bear and indulgence would defeat prudence. In a flash of thoughtless gluttony the final mistake would be made. She may have been bold enough to plot the thorny path to heaven but she wasn't strong enough to walk it. 

"Don't play around with my life, I'm not your plaything." 

Ryoko had been right, it was unfair to treat her life with such negligence, to risk so much as if the consequences would be nothing more than a dent on a doll. There was no margin for failure, no place for possibility, the solution would have to be irreversible, it would have to be as permanent as death itself. 

She looked up from the unholy tint of orange as she heard faint footsteps beginning to rise above the soft surfacing drones of the forsaken television. Each sounded step was like the tick of a clock, a countdown to exposure. 

It was now or never and as she looked back down at her gleaming handful of glass she knew that she held her daughter's future in her hands. Her frost-whitened knuckles stiffly screwed off the lid. Her numbing fingers bluntly scrapped up a handful of the ghostly white tablets and swallowed them as they bulged down her throat like iron seeds of death. 

They filled her with toxins and poisons, liquid gremlins to storm through her body's paths and gates like pillaging barbarians, but it also filled her with a warm assurance, a restful promise that Ryoko was safe . . . 

. . . that her dream was going to come true. 

------------------------------- 

Now she lay lifelessly in the earth, her limbs drained, her body dry, her eyes rusted shut forevermore. She was at peace at last. Her rotting heart was still a casket for her the pain of a lonely woman and the torment of a rejected mother but her soul had long flew, soaring softly to the heavens and leaving all of its woes buried in the soiled Earth. 

Above her emptied body stood the flower of her life, the daughter that she lost then had but never held. She glared down upon the grave with a solemn expression as cold as frozen stone, her eyes as dull as two pebbles, her expression as set and secure as the great mountains. 

But this rock mask was hiding her true feelings, it was shielding the storm of confusion and emotion that boiled inside her mind like a tempestuous war between the elements. Different sides of the same clashed and an internal struggle was fought for what emotion should be first carved onto her blank face. 

Yet to look at her grave stare no one could ever guess the furious emotions that were violently erupting just below the surface skin. 

She wanted to hate Washu. She should hate her. She had desecrated what meant most to Ryoko, she had raped her of her one true dream and left her with nothing but fading memories of hopes that were fast dissipating like wisps of smoke into air. 

She had wanted to give Ryoko happiness but all she had created was another ghost to haunt the foot of her bed, yet another sordid stain on her daughter's bruised soul. Yes, she wanted to hate her mother, she wanted to heave her soul up in disgust and hurl every once of loathing at her memory. She should hate Washu from the bottom of her miserable soul, but she couldn't, and she hated herself for not being able to. 

For despite herself, despite everything she thought and felt, she understood. 

Still little had changed inside her, if she were to trawl the depths of her heart she still wouldn't reap any prevailing love or unbreakable bond, but she couldn't muster the desire to damn Washu to the sorriest trench in hell either. 

She paused her firestorm thoughts as they began to fizzle out and the calm of a still ocean began to wash over her and settle her thoughts onto a more pacified path. 

Perhaps Washu had been right, there probably wasn't any point in denouncing the truth so perhaps now was the time to seek the truth about them. For theirs was a story without fiends or foes, just feelings and fears. They were just two broken souls trying to scrape some scrap of comfort out of their perished lives. They tried to fend of the darkness of their souls with fire. They waved that brave flame with burnt hands and gripped it even tighter when it turned round and scorched them. They were both being bitten by their only solace, being eaten alive by the only things that kept them alive. There was no way that they could harvest anything but pain from that. 

And perhaps one day when she could forgive herself she would forgive her mother too. 

But then a wind began to whisper in her ear bearing memories and reminders, taking her thoughts back a step and placing them in a new perspective. Something occurred to her and filled her with a stung anger. 

Yes, it seemed that Washu's grand scheme had paid off because whether she admitted it or not, whether it was a calculated variable of her elaborate designs or just a pleasant background thought, a phantom promise that lured her willingly towards her own doom, whether she even knew it or not somewhere in the back of her twisted mind Washu knew that Ryoko would end up standing here like this, thinking these thoughts, thinking ever so slightly better of her. 

A shiver shook her spine as if cold ghostly fingers had just grabbed her. A cold chill began to fester in her as if a frosty finger had touched her heart. 

Had that been her buried desire from the beginning, was her death just a lesson, an exercise to teach Ryoko the truth? Had that been her true trophy? Was that the abject desperation that Ryoko had driven her to? It frightened her, of every thought and feeling that orbited Ryoko it was this guilt-filled notion that disturbed her most, even more than the twisting, uncertain future that was unfurling itself in a erratic flurry, even more than the reins of her life that had now slipped her hands. 

She looked up to the pale cold sky, the last question driven through her mind like a frozen arrow. 

'But have they slipped or were they stripped?' 

She clasped her eyes closed wearily and let that unravelling line of thought fall away like a tumbling ball of yarn. She didn't even have influence over her own thoughts anymore, they just seemed to career through the whisked and whirled channels of her feelings, the hectic, mazy mess that her mind had dissipated to. 

It was fearful to find your own mind compromised, to have lost control of your own essence but the true composure-peeling fear was that she could only impede these impulsive notions, she could slow them down but one end of that line was still tied to her, a thread in her, and eventually she would unravel it to its origin. 

Regardless of any words or deeds the future would bring, this death had been engraved in her soul and was now as much a part of her as her pale skin that cringed in the cold. She felt threatened by this emotional coup d'etat, she wanted to rebel against herself, to take up arms and wage guerrilla war to purge her mind pure once more, but she no longer had the strength or will. Instead she just heaved out a soul-shattered breath and watched the bitter air turn it to a flurry of frost-laced cloud. 

She felt more cold and alone now than ever before but as she stood there, dazed and distressed, she was anything but the exception. 

He stood with a rimed bouquet of blood red roses in his hands and his bleeding heart lodged in his throat. The warm charm of a kind hearted young man had been swept from his face, he stared with the solemn manner of his grandfather, the stonewall that hid the pain of lost love and downed dreams. 

'If it hadn't been days then I would still be waiting to wake up and see us all the way we were but its true, its unreasonably unexpected, it goes against the grain of our lives, but its true. 

I never imagined how fragile my life could be. How could something I cared so much about could be destroyed so swiftly without as much as a whisper of warning. 

It's a catastrophe in defiance of everything. It just shouldn't have happened.' 

His thoughts filled his mind with the weight of mountains. He was young and the rest of his life still seemed like an infinite stretch of years, a journey ahead of him so vast that it wasn't yet worth pondering its end. Although any illusion of immortality had been truly dispelled from his mind he knew he couldn't survive the rest of his existence on faint dreams alone. If he wasn't prepared to waste his life as a shrine to someone who had never became more than a suicidal acquaintance then what would he . . . 

Wait! There, could it be . . . 

His head wrenched hastily round in excited astonishment, his dying spirits suddenly flourished in a blissful beat of joy. 

She was there. 

The sun burned in his eyes, his raised hand failing to fully shield his gaze, but he never looked away for fear that if he let her out his sight he might lose her again. For by some miracle she was standing there before him, her larger than life outline shrouded in the brilliant morning light. It enveloped her in a brilliant daze of sharp brilliance, washing the colour and texture from her dim form but the shape of her wild hair was unmistakeable as it rustled gently on the chilled breeze. 

Even through a pained squint she looked magnificent, the way the rays of piercing white light embraced the edges of her eclipsing body gave her an angelic glow as she stood there serenely like a vision of holy beauty, a glorious lady of light, a gift from heaven. 

For the first time in days he felt a pulse of hope in his dead heart and with an eager spring in his step he moved to meet her, to be reunited with his lost love, to wake from this nightmare and feel alive again, but as he took that step the sun's glare passed over him, the dazzling mist was lifted and the illusion was shattered. 

Instead of flowing locks of red it was cyan that fluttered in the wind, instead of a second chance it was nothing but a cruel illusion, pale in resemblance, bitter in essence. 

His soaring heart ruptured. His dried up soul just shrivelled away and all the joy and virtue in his life seemed to leak from him and seep away into the ground. 

Yet his mind couldn't help but be filled with a prospect, a dark untapped potential. That brief moment, that short release he had found in Ryoko, could that sustain him? 

No! That was wrong, he couldn't use Ryoko like that. 

But it would make her happy. And those thoughts and that experience, in that order, could that be coincidence alone? Or was it a sign, an omen, a heavenly hand pointing him towards the right path, telling him it was okay. Or was that just a wishful delusion to let him bend his focus? 

Did it matter? 

He had lost his true love and now he felt as if any love would do, he just had to claw some comfort out of this cold world before it froze him to death. Ryoko was the only solace he had left, the only remaining thread, the last link left for him. Perhaps it was imitation, perhaps it was wrong but he no longer had the strength of mind to decide let alone defy. This would have to do for now. 

A baby doesn't suck its thumb expecting milk, it does it for comfort, the warm touch of a memory soothing the stale cold of the moment. To him this was no worse. 

He raised his head towards the heavens seeking an audience, a presence to bear witness to his choice so in that he could find justification, whether imagined or true. 

'I'll take care of her Washu,' was his silent promise, 'somehow I think that was what you would have wanted.' 

So with the actors assembled Washu's blood-scribed script began to play itself out of the limits of her mind and into reality. Tenchi walked slowly towards Ryoko as the magnetism of manufactured destiny drew them together. He passed her at first as he softly placed the roses upon the grave, the letting go and laying to rest the fulfilment of both a promise and a plan. Still kneeling he stared at the red petals, so similar in nature to his love's character, but the longer he stared at the dead cells, no matter how beautiful, it only affirmed the blunt truth that he would gain nothing in return for waiting forever hunched over a cold grave. 

He raised himself up on stiffened knees and without turning he drew in a long breath of the frosty world that encased him. He tried to free his wedged heart and raw feelings long enough for him to say what he knew he had to. 

"I'm sorry Ryoko," he spoke, his voice disturbing the morning silence. His words were streamed with emotions too fresh to bury. "I lost my Mom too so I know how you must feel." 

He waited for a response, a recognition, anything to help him mould this delicate conversation, but none came. All that followed was a winter silence as the bridge he had tried to build between them began to fall away to dead peace. 

"Grandfather says that you were there for me we she died," he continued, uneased yet undeterred, "I don't know is that's true or not, I can't remember, but I'm here for you." 

As he spoke those awkward words they sounded stiffly bent as if crammed sideways into the moment. He shuffled slowly towards her with hesitation as if she was a vicious viper, just like he had days before. It wasn't a passionate flare of undying love nor did it seem a shallow pretence, it was just clumsy, lacking nothing except the very essence that made it desirable to begin with. 

And it was even more cumbersome than it seemed for Tenchi was wading blindly through murky issues, he was fumbling with words and promises each trailing a train of complex consequences and delicate significance, all of which he was innocently ignorant to. 

Although met with silence each oblivious word and action stirred another raw wave in the disturbed storm of Ryoko's mind. It was another violent shake of her vulnerable life that had been stripped bare and left exposed in the raw rain, each passing moment lashing her with another dose of sour sorrow. 

Tenchi's hand reached out to clasp hers like the locking of a chain, the finale of every tear and thought, the purpose of their suffering. In better times it would have been an untainted moment of joy and pride but now it was marred by cold knowledge of the iron truth and instead of being a cloud walk of elation the experience was a flurry of thoughts, a furious whirlwind of guilt, sorrow, temptation and conscience. 

'This is what I wanted, this is the realisation of my sole goal. This is the happiness that I suffered for, the promise that I lurched my weary soul towards. If this is the bliss I've battled so hard to grasp . . . 

. . . then why does it feel so bad? Why does it feel like I'm selling my soul?' 

Her thoughts were paused as his hand touched hers and held it firmly. In all her dreams and hopes she had never imagined it would feel so cold and harsh yet as she looked in his eyes she couldn't help but see everything she had been striving for. Methods and motives swept aside this was it, this was delivery of her dreams. 

'This is happiness, perhaps it's wrong, perhaps it's hollow and cheap but it's still the only thing worth living for. I have nothing else to aspire to anymore. Washu had her happiness, she had her day in the sun. This is my last chance for peace, I deserve to taste contentment too. There's no reason for me to deny myself.' 

Her bleak expression began to thaw to a soft smile, the ghost of Washu began to lift from her shoulders and for the first time in her memory she felt as if a time of true peace and rest was falling upon her. The trials and anguish of the past had finally amounted to something. The murder, filth and blood, the gouging, violating and pillaging, the loneliness, bitterness and helplessness, it was all finished, soon to be dissolved and healed in the years of warmth and kindness to come. 

It would have been perfect, the rest would all have been forgotten had it not been for one stray thought, one small spark that soon exploded and swallowed up her serenity until it became everything, a black hole in her soul that devoured any scrap of joy or warmth that the moment may have brought. 

She heaved her hand away harshly as if his touch suddenly torched her skin. The intimacy was shattered, the bond burned to ash. It was that thought that had changed her, the thought of being bonded, to be chained by someone else's doing. It wasn't how it was meant to be, it was all too similar. 

'No! I won't be controlled, even if it's for my own good. I'll never be a prisoner again, not even a prisoner of paradise. 

I said I'd never be your plaything and I meant it! You can't tempt me into it no matter how appealing a role you have planned for me. I won't become a slave to someone else's wishes.' 

She raised her head in silent defiance as she realised the bitter reality that her mother had forged. This was the last link in Washu's chain and should she build a bond with him then she would only be finishing her mother's work, she would have sealed the final lock and completed the chain that shackled them all to their preordained places in someone else's choice of world. 

'I don't care what your reasons were, I won't let you violate the future. Rightly or wrongly this has gone to far. It ends here.' 

"Just leave me alone." 

Those weak words where aimless, half-directed to her mother, half-meant for the rest of the world that she wished would just crumble away and let her languish in torment, but as Tenchi heard them they drove a cold blade through his heart. He was deprived of every warmth he sought shelter in, every certainty was failing him, or perhaps he was just beginning to pay for his own failings. His own hand drooped down miserably, the will and strength to hold it there drained from him. He felt broken and it seemed that every effort to get back on his feet only broke him further. 

Once again faced with a fresh grave he felt like the same sniffling little boy who had whimpered for his mother to come back, who cried tears in vain and whose only wish was for the warm comfort that he knew would never come. 

All he could do was drown in his gulf of sadness. 

Ryoko tried to ignore the broken expression on his face as it bled a pitiful frailty from a raw injury. It would hurt her to see him like that and would weaken her already flimsy resolve. This was more of a commitment than a choice and to know how much it hurt others would only make it a greater burden to endure. Instead her eyes fled towards the grave where she could peer in silence undisturbed through respect. 

It was a humble grave, perhaps it was unfitting for the mammoth genius it honoured. There was no elegant carving, master craftsmanship or anything that would strike awe and amazement into the passing eye, but true genius was in subtly and the scene suddenly awoke something long dead in Ryoko's heart. 

Something stirred inside of her, it began to shift and toss in her mind like someone gently arousing from a stretched sleep. In the deep depths of her mind a sunken memory snapped its rusty shackles and began to lightly rise to the surface. 

The roses. 

The scarlet petals filled her eyes like burning leaves of flame, their crumpled, shivering petals filling her mind with fright as if they were bold, fluttering banners of war. The message on their unmarked skin stabbed itself into her mind. A soft light seemed to dawn on her godforsaken soul, a deeper meaning was carried on swift wings from the heavens and struck her with all the volume and vigour of divine thunder. 

She wrapped her arms around herself as if a gust of bitter winter breath had just invaded the cool air. She stood there holding herself as if she had no one else to hold her, shivering like an unloved child, and the world suddenly felt colder, emptier and hollow. 

Yet her hands found a strange comfort, a lingering warmth as if someone else's hands had been resting there only moments before but she knew that the tender sensations were only meagre wisps of half-forgotten memories. 

And suddenly she knew what she had to do. 

She looked down at the wilting flowers, the emblem of a memory and the whispered words from the past. 

"Mommy." 

As that soft word wound it's way down the wind Tenchi's foot halted just before treading another footfall in the frost laced grass. He had already retreated several steps away from Ryoko, his heavy heart dragging his spirits to drowning depths, but this one whisper filled his mind with sprouting thoughts, his heart with a rustle of confused hope and his mind with a disoriented disbelief. 

"What?" he asked as softly as he could manage without his words falling away to silence. 

"I said sorry," she softly whispered with a buckled voice, "Please come back." 

Slowly he made his way back, crept softly up to her and with the lightest of touch, as if he was trying to lift a sleeping child, his hesitant, shivering hand reached out for her and with a lead heart she accepted it. 

She had no choice, they had become playthings whether they like it or not and they no longer had any will to fight it. Perhaps it was wicked, perhaps the whole idea was a sin but it was no longer their own doing. They had been fashioned into two pieces of a puzzle, each making the other complete, leading each other out of the wilderness to where they belonged. 

And so the chain was completed and there, hand in hand, stood the greatest testament to Washu's life and long after her inventions and work were long lost and forgotten her family line would remain. It was her eternal mark on the world. For they stood united before her paltry grave like trembling towers that shivered in the breeze, a greater monument than any King had ever been paid. 

But as she stood there with a stone heart, miserable and beaten, Ryoko tried to purge that thought from her mind, she tried to drive out the whole cruel world. She just tried to find some shred of lost comfort, she waited for that warmth that she had felt on her sides to descend upon her once more but all she received were stabbing spears of guilt, shame, confusion and sorrow. His touch was no longer the sweet release she had prayed for, it was a scalding hand that blistered her skin. 

Yet she knew that she couldn't reject it. 

'I understand. 

This isn't just about me, this about what someone has done for me and no matter how I feel about it, no matter how I feel about them I have to honour it. 

You've made your sacrifice to me and I'll make mine to you by accepting it. He'll be my bleeding rose. The closer I hold him the more it will hurt but even when I feel the bite of the thorns I won't let go. I have to keep this twisted gift . . . 

. . . I have no choice.' 

End of Chapter Four 

End of Story 

Note - This will most likely be my last Tenchi Muyo fic. My writing has always mirrored my thoughts and dreams and they are beginning to turn to other things. If I were to continue writing Tenchi fics it would just be soulless. If things change then I might write another but as things stand this is the end. 

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and encouraged me during my time here. 

Thanks for reading, 

The Great El Dober.


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